Chapter Thirty-One Violet #2
ADA Mowery folded her hands, professional and patient. “Do you have physical evidence? Objects, documents . . . anything?”
I shook my head. “They destroyed most of it.” My throat tightened, and I stared down at my hands before forcing my gaze up to the attorney. He leaned forward, his voice steady.
“She’s cooperating voluntarily. Anything she turns over will be logged properly under the proffer.”
That steadiness kept me from unraveling.
I clenched the edge of my shirt in my fists.
“I kept a box in the back of my closet,” I admitted.
The words felt heavy, final. “It holds things I took when I ran. A linen robe I was forced to wear during ceremonies. My journal. I wrote all my fears, confusion, and questions inside. And . . . a blade Marcus gave me for when my time came. For when it was my turn to sacrifice for the Blood God.” I swallowed hard, the burn in my throat nearly unbearable.
“The knife’s hilt has my old name carved into it.
The one Marcus gave me. Vienna.” The admission cracked the air like glass breaking.
Everyone was silent for a long second, and then Kaufmann turned to Marie. “If that box exists, we need to secure it. Chain of custody, evidence log. Forensics pickup. It could directly corroborate her testimony.”
ADA Mowery tapped her pen against the notepad, her voice cool but decisive.
“We’ll arrange retrieval through the proper channels.
Since her home is still an active crime scene, access is already authorized, but voluntary cooperation streamlines it—no warrant needed if she consents.
Either way, it must be logged and secured before there’s any chance of tampering. ”
As she spoke, I glanced sideways. Grayson hadn’t said a word, but his jaw was set so tight I could see the muscle ticcing beneath his skin. His fingers flexed once against his thigh, then stilled when he saw me watching him.
I pushed my confusion and anxiety down, shoved the unease into the same box I’d just confessed existed.
Her gaze narrowed. “You understand your memory will be tested. Defense will attack it.”
“I know. I’m not afraid of that.” The room went still, as if the weight of my words had everyone thinking about every angle and move to make next.
For a couple of hours, they pressed me. Dates. Faces. The shape of the sigil that was carved into floors and walls. They wanted to know the prayers Marcus whispered in a language I never understood but still heard in my sleep.
I gave them everything. My throat burned raw, my hands trembled from the dredging of old wounds, but I didn’t falter. When I paused, Grayson’s hand brushed mine, a silent reassurance that everything would be fine. I wanted to believe him.
When I spoke Marcus’s name, when I described the rituals and sacrifices, Grayson’s grip tightened too hard. Like my words weren’t just cutting me open . . . they were slicing into him as well.
Finally, Detective Kaufmann shut his notebook with a snap.
Detective Lawson came up to stand beside him, his expression cut from stone.
He was the one who spoke. “We’ll need you to review photos for possible IDs.
This gives us something solid. But understand—your delay in coming forward puts us in a difficult position.
Two officers are dead. If the defense gets their hands on that timeline, they’ll argue obstruction, maybe worse. ”
The words cut deep, but before I could open my mouth, my attorney shifted forward, tone even but firm.
“Those officers were already assigned based on the visible stalking and threats—information my client did report. Her prior silence didn’t create that risk.
She’s here now, of her own accord. Ms. Santos is cooperating fully. No need for threats.”
The agents didn’t argue, but their stares weighed on me.
I forced my voice steady. “I know I should’ve spoken sooner. But burying it was the only way I knew how to survive. Pretending it wasn’t real kept me breathing. I know I can’t stay silent any longer.”
Mowery capped her pen and stacked her notes, her eyes locked on me.
“We’ll process all of this. You are not under arrest”—she paused deliberately—“yet, Ms. Santos. But if this goes to trial, you will testify. And you will be cross-examined. Every inconsistency, every delay in disclosure, they’ll hammer you with it. ”
“I have nothing but the truth to tell them. Every murder happening in this town is because of them. The cult. Marcus. No mistake about it. They’ve left their signature in every death.
” My words came out like broken glass. “I know now that silence doesn’t make me innocent.
It makes me complicit. I won’t let them own me like that again. ”
The agents started murmuring to each other.
“We’ll also arrange for forensics to collect that box.
” I looked at Grayson when the box was mentioned and noticed something flicker across his face.
Barely there, but I caught it. It was the tic of his jaw, the way his eyes cut away too quickly.
It could’ve been anger at what I endured, or disgust at the thought of my name carved into a blade. But it lodged in me like a thorn.
When everyone finally left and it was just Grayson and me, the silence felt heavier than before. I sank back onto the couch, my body trembling with a rush of adrenaline.
Grayson had gone into the kitchen and brought back bottles of water. He set them on the table and crouched in front of me, his eyes burning with something fierce and unyielding. “You did it. Everything is out in the open now.”
I studied him, my chest tightening with more than relief. “Do you think they believed me?”
His jaw flexed hard. “I don’t give a fuck if they did. I believe you.” He kissed me then, deep and fierce, sealing it like a vow.
Tomorrow would bring more questions. More danger. But at least now I wasn’t voiceless anymore.